from where we live in Fleet. But even though I could have been there in under an hour, he refused to allow me to come and meet him. This was the only time I felt really upset at his attitude: I knew this would be my only chance to see him, because of his advancing years and because he had already warned me not to call on him in Canada.
Had I known where he was calling from, I would have driven there anyway, but he was careful not to reveal this, although he said he was staying with relatives of his first wife. Mr. Johnson told me he was getting a lift to the airport in the morning to fly home to Canada. I begged him to see me, but he hadn’t the guts to do so, despite having promised that he would — a promise he had used simply to buy some more time.
He was very cold, guarded and kept trying to ring off. He did say he was making a tape about his wartime affair with my mother, which he would send me and also make available to his children on his death. He said he had consulted a solicitor on the Isle of Wight, and he expected a response from me once I had heard the tape. His prime interest seemed to be in limiting any possible damage to his precious reputation.
A Canadian soldier arrives in Canada after five long years overseas. Who knows if he left a child behind?
When I got the tape I decided I would make no further effort to contact Johnson. It contained a ridiculous, one-sided attempt at smearing my mother — the only person who kept me out of an orphanage — and was full of self-justification and excuses. It is one of the most disgusting statements I have ever heard, an opinion shared by the Rains, who could scarcely believe their ears. It seems, you see, that this strapping Canadian soldier was entirely overpowered and seduced by this little seven-stone, five-foot Englishwoman. What a terrible experience it must have been for him. I am surprised he didn’t seek immediate counselling.
So much for Johnson. The good news was that cousin Linda came over with her new husband, Bart, and spent her honeymoon with us in Hampshire in 2004!
Linda and Bart are a wonderful, outgoing Canadian couple and we spent some happy days seeing the sights and showing them England, where Linda’s father and uncles had spent their wartime years.
Our children, Daniel and Anne, at last had some relatives to relate to on my father’s side, where previously there had been a void. We have kept in touch since their return to Canada and we have a standing invitation to visit them.
Linda also brought loads of family history and pictures with her: at last my German/Canadian roots were revealed!
I phoned my half-brother Dale, in Ottawa, but he showed no interest, so at the time of writing Linda and Bart are our Canadian family. We are delighted to know them, and even if we never meet any other “Johnsons,” we will have succeeded in expanding our family in a wonderful way.
Awkward Moments
by Celestine
At the end of March 1989, I flew to Toronto to meet my Canadian father, Louis, for the first time. During the whole flight I was so nervous and the same thoughts kept racing through my mind. Did I look like him? I was not as good-looking as my English mother, Libby. She had beautiful long, curly, blonde hair and dark-brown eyes. I was just a plain dark blonde with straight hair cut in a bob.
I had seen a photo of Louis in the service, a handsome young soldier, but he never did send me a photo of how he looked now. So I tried to draw a picture in my mind: maybe his hair was all grey or white, or maybe he had no hair at all? Were his eyes like mine — not blue and not green, sort of in between?
It was not his fault that he couldn’t raise me: it was Libby’s. She left my father when she became pregnant. Libby didn’t love him the way he loved her. She was so young, only seventeen years old. My grandparents raised me, so I grew up thinking they were my parents and Libby was my sister.
I found out much later that Louis wanted to marry Libby, but my grandparents were against it. Besides, she didn’t really care about Louis. Libby liked to have fun, go out, and be carefree, and she did until she was in a bad accident that left her disabled.
As I walked through the doors at the airport and saw all the people who were waiting to welcome their families and friends, I wondered how I would find my father. As I stood there, a well-dressed man came towards me with a big bouquet of roses. It was Louis, my father. He put his arms around me and held me tight. The tears kept streaming down my face. We were both very emotional as we walked down the parking lot to where his car was.
This first visit with my Canadian father was a strange and emotional time. At first he wanted to see me as his “girlfriend” — and, more importantly, wanted other people to believe that this was so. Apart from his ego, he had great difficulty explaining me to friends, and there were quite a few awkward moments.
I could appreciate his discomfort, but I had spent the whole of my childhood in situations where no one wanted to say who I was, and there was no way I was going to put up with that at the age of forty-five.
So, initially, we had conflicts over his feelings towards me, what he wanted from me, and what I felt I could give. But we got along so well and I knew that he loved me and was proud of me.
When he became ill, I nursed him and worried over him. I stayed for a few days with my husband’s relations in Montreal, and this gave me the opportunity to talk to someone from outside the situation. I realized that Louis was terrified of losing me, the way he had lost my mother, his first and only love. This made him demanding and sometimes very difficult. I realized how much I missed him, and when I returned I was more confident and able to laugh at his “grumpy” ways.
I returned to Toronto for three weeks in May and we had a lovely time together. In July, my father came to us — something he had said he would never do. He stayed for ten weeks. He became a part of my family and I was really happy. He was spoiled and did not want to return to Canada.
I had not been prepared for how desolate I felt when he left, and I realized how important it is that we make the most of the time left to us. We made enquiries about him living with us, and it appears that he is not eligible, so we have to fight. He very much wants to come and stay with us. He is a very lonely man; he never married and has no family anymore.
Many young soldiers wanted a relationship with the mothers of their children but it was not meant to be.
I realize now that my father and I have a more intense relationship than most people under normal circumstances, but as long as he is happy and my husband, children and I are happy, then it doesn’t really matter what the rest of the world thinks.
Sometimes I think I am dreaming. That I could have found a father who loves me, hugs me and laughs and cries with me is more than I had ever hoped for.
His Father’s Eyes
by Melynda Jarratt
The most famous Canadian war child is legendary blues-rock guitarist Eric Clapton, whose father was a soldier from Montreal named Edward Fryer.
Clapton was born on March 30, 1945, to Patricia Molly Clapton, a sixteen-year-old English teenager whose brief relationship with the piano-playing soldier from Quebec resulted in pregnancy.
Raised by his grandparents, Eric was nine years old when he found out that his sister Patricia was actually his
